


Dress to Oppress

by the_last_dillards



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Crack, Emperor's New Clothes (Fairy Tale), Gen, Occupation of Bajor, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:09:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26374747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_last_dillards/pseuds/the_last_dillards
Summary: Gul Dukat, prefect of Bajor, commissions a luxurious new outfit from Garak.
Relationships: Elim Garak & Dukat, Implied Dukat/Elim Garak
Comments: 17
Kudos: 19





	Dress to Oppress

**Author's Note:**

> This whole thing came about after reading MattyCake’s [Dress to Transgress](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20374126). It's an amazing Garak/Quark fic, (highly suggest even if it's not your usual thing), but in my head I kept reading the title as Dress to Oppress and so here we are.
> 
> The rest is based loosely on the fairytale The Emperor’s New Clothes. Familiarity with it might help but is not necessary. There’s a few different versions of it, but this takes after one that uses bastards. Also, assume that Dukat here is not yet aware of Garak's part in his father's death.

Dukat stared at the empty mannequin with an incredulous look on his face. He eyed it desperately, trying to see what he’d been told was there.

Garak stood next to him, his best smile plastered on. 

“...Really?” Dukat said, looking skeptic.

“Oh, yes! You see, those of us that come from a pure, unadulterated lineage have superior eyesight with a greater ability to see across the EM spectrum and therefore more colors. It’s a result of our superior genetics.”

Dukat nodded along. “Well, that makes sense. I do see it now. The sheen of the material really is quite resplendent. It must have caught a glare.”

There was nothing there. 

Garak held his smile and blinked.

It was hard to believe that it had only been a year since he’d been exiled, forced to go begging on hands and knees to guls all over the sector for a place to live. Dukat had graciously allowed him to set up shop, displaying a dangerous curiosity about Garak’s situation and a clear desire to make him feel grateful and indebted to him.

The time had passed like decades, but Garak had played the part. Smiled and demurred and flattered Dukat’s ego at every cue.

He hated it. He hated every second of it.

But now he had an ace up his sleeve, a chance for revenge.

“And what does our noble Prefect think?” Garak made a grand sweeping gesture towards the mannequin.

“I— Well, it certainly is something, isn’t it? Such lovely colors and fine fabric. Really, you’ve out done yourself yet again, Garak.”

It was funny, really, how the skills needed for assassination, sabotage, and intrigue turned out to be so similar to those needed for his current career in retail. 

“You flatter me, dear sir. I am simply your humble tailor.”

“Perhaps too humble indeed. Your talents deserve a celebration all their own!” Dukat wrapped a presumptuous arm around Garak’s shoulder and squeezed.

He continued, “Why, if I weren’t already throwing a soiree tonight in honor of our forty-ninth year guiding this planet—!” 

Dukat paused and released him, coming around to face Garak and grabbing onto his upper arms. “Actually…actually, why don’t you come along? You can be my special guest. You do know how I _enjoy_ your company.”

Garak raised his eye ridges and tried to brush off the invitation. “I’m afraid a simple man such as myself would feel out of place in such a fine setting. I am, after all, only a clothes maker.”

“Nonsense! You work among fineries all day and you have proven your tastes to match those of the highest Legates. Please, I must insist.”

“Well, if you insist, it would be my honor.”

* * *

“On the good State, what is he wearing?!”

“More like what isn’t he wearing?”

The pair of soldiers snickered between themselves as they loitered around the snack table. 

Garak smirked from his corner near the punch bowl, taking a sip of kanar from his home-brought flask to cover it. One could never be too careful.

He’d been hoping to weasel his way out of this engagement but all of his attempts had been quickly thwarted by Dukat. Garak would be suspicious that the Gul knew the truth if not for the fact that he had indeed shown up very naked in his luxurious new outfit.

“He’s telling everyone that it’s a special fabric that only those with a pure heritage can see.”

“Hah! Well, I can tell you no one would willingly sleep with my mother outside of familial obligation and all I see is his scaly ass.”

The two continued their jabs as they finished getting their food. Garak eyed the flatbread smothered in yamok sauce that one carried away with distaste before turning his eyes back to the crowd.

As per usual at these sorts of events, Dukat was at the center of attention. 

Tonight, however, was a bit different. 

He had the typical crowd of admirers about him. But where usually they were opportunist beetles, looking for an easy step up in the world, the ones around him now were not very discreet as to where their eyes lingered. 

Not that Dukat seemed to know the difference. 

He strut about proudly, every scale and chu’en boldly on display as he made his usual rounds, schmoozing and being schmoozed to, networking, and seeming totally oblivious. When asked, he proudly told the story of his custom suit and the fabric it was made of, and his audience nodded along.

Garak couldn’t have imagined in his wildest dreams this going so well. He had thought that either Dukat would manage to ‘accidentally’ spill something on his supposed outfit before the event, requiring him to wear something else, or that the truth would be found out within five minutes and he’d be thrown in a holding cell.

But so far, all was going splendidly.

Of course, that should’ve clued Garak in immediately that something quite horrible was waiting in the wings.

There was a minor disruption as a gaggle of Bajoran children were escorted into the room and onto a small stage erected in a corner. They settled into rows and a single Bajoran man joined them, holding some type of quaint stringed instrument. 

This was a yearly tradition Dukat had started in his first year as Prefect. A group of relatively healthy looking Bajoran children would be asked to learn several traditional Bajoran songs to perform for their masters’ entertainment. In exchange, they received a slight increase of rations for their families over that time.

Perhaps a third of the crowd turned to watch.

The Bajoran man plucked experimentally at his strings for some last minute tuning. The children grew restless as they waited, staring openly at their strange surroundings, undoubtedly much finer than anything they normally saw otherwise.

One young girl let her eyes trail across the ceiling, following a pillar down to where Dukat was standing.

She pointed and in that loud, indiscriminate way of children asked, “Why isn’t he wearing any clothes?”

An awkward hush fell. Those that hadn’t been paying attention to the stage before certainly were now. Sets of eyes brushed over Dukat and before scattering quickly away. 

Garak felt a pit of dread in his stomach. This was the worst possible way for the truth to be revealed.

Gul Boheeka tried to make the save. “Well, looks like we found the bastard!”

There was a round of forced laughter and then everyone seemed to simultaneously decide that the best thing to do was have a loud conversation.

But the damage was done. Garak knew it. 

People were avoiding looking at Dukat altogether, and Dukat was looking nowhere but Garak.

The Gul made his way over, never looking away. There was a very conscious way about his movements, avoiding brushes with others—not that it was difficult with the way the crowd avoided him—but with shoulders back and head held high. 

The choir settled and began their foreign harmonies.

Finally, Dukat reached Garak’s corner, a dangerous gleam in his eye. “You know, I’ve been quite rude to you. Here you are, my guest, who spent hours procuring and creating this lovely outfit for me, and I leave you alone the entire night! Come, let us mingle.”

Garak smiled sweetly. “I appreciate the offer, my dearest Prefect, but you see, I find crowds to be somewhat claustrophobic.”

Dukat used his height to his advantage, letting himself tower over Garak and lean into his space.

Garak felt an uncomfortable prickling in his ridges at his proximity to the naked man. He knew there were eyes glancing towards them. 

He fingered the mini-hypospray hidden in his sleeve just in case.

“Don’t tell me you’re a wallflower.”

“Not by any intention.”

Garak’s arm was grabbed and he was jerked out of his corner and onto the main floor.

Dukat kept a firm hold on him. “Then let me introduce you to some of the visiting guests. I have no doubt that they’ll be eager to find out just who created this design and how they might go about procuring a version for themselves. Why, you might just have started the latest fashion craze on Cardassia!”

“Your looks are that of Collum, Hebitian god of beauty. I’m not sure any other could wear it quite so well,” Garak tried to appease halfheartedly.

Dukat gave a crocodilian grin. “You flatter me, my most trusted tailor. Come, let us introduce you to them.”

And so it went. 

Garak grinned and beared it as he was led around the room and introduced to nearly every Gul, Legate, and government official in attendance. He was the man of the hour. The man who had made Dukat’s elegant new set of clothes. 

Dukat swept his arms wide and insisted that each and every guest get a good, long look before moving on to the next victim. Garak was pulled along with him, made to stand as close as proprietary allowed while Dukat breathed down his neck. 

It was only after the choir had long gone and the guests all been spoken to that Garak was allowed to escape from Dukat’s grasp and sneak out the doors.

But the damage had been done.

No one would ever shop at Garak’s Clothiers ever again. 

Not that it mattered much.

He’d gotten word just a few days before that the entire sector would be abandoned within the week. Soon enough, he would find some other Cardassian station or colony world to toil away his days on. Perhaps as a gardener or a contract console technician this time. 

It would be just a short matter of time, during which he would suffer Dukat’s anger at his revenge, and then he would board a shuttle to leave the station with everyone else. It wouldn’t be a pleasant few days, no doubt, but he’d survive. 

After all, it wasn’t as if anything Dukat had the intelligence or power to do anything which would really mean anything by week’s end.

**Author's Note:**

> I know the last few paragraphs are lame and somewhat lackluster, but this has been sitting around for over a year and I want it out of my drafts folder. Also I realize the implication probably isn’t super clear but because of Garak’s stunt, Dukat bans/prevents him from leaving the station with the other Cardassians and that’s why Garak stays.


End file.
